


Ball Game

by Sunnyrea



Series: The War [14]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Historical, Humor, M/M, Valley Forge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: General Washington requests the aide-de-camps to join him for some exercise, and the aides are much confused and amused.[Part of a series but can be read as a stand alone story]





	Ball Game

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this comes from [HERE](http://john-laurens.tumblr.com/post/160348551693/the-general-was-a-physically-active-person-and) and the irresistible image of General dad playing ball with all his aide-de-camp sons.

Alexander Hamilton sits in the aide–de–camp office of General Washington’s headquarters at Valley Forge. John Laurens sits to his right, Tench Tilghman to Laurens’ right closer to the fire while Robert Hanson Harrison and Richard kidder Meade sit at the table across from them near the wall. They are at a near full house this day, what with John Fitzgerald away on assignment, though they have precious few letters to write at present. What they do have now are the results of the Continental Congress Camp Committee now it has nearly concluded; the committee was established to aid in the reorganization of their army and with so many voices involved the paperwork is substantial. At present Hamilton, Laurens and Tilghman work on the unenviable processes of transcribing the existing minutes and decisions made at the committee meeting for dissemination about the army. Caleb Gibbs visited them an hour past with reports on money reimbursements which Harrison was able to snatch up first. Hamilton would rather be dealing with the accounts than such repetitious writing as this.

“Could you pass me that inkpot?” Laurens asks, pointing past Hamilton.

Hamilton reaches across the table and slides the new inkpot to Laurens. “Dried one up already?”

Laurens scoffs. “You are in no small part to blame.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Tilghman echoes.

Across the room, Meade snorts into his paperwork but says nothing.

“You cannot lay blame on me for our work now. The committee was –”

“Was quite well informed by your extensive letter,” Laurens interrupts.

“You helped me write it!”

Laurens pouts his lips and does not meet Hamilton’s eye. 

Hamilton smiles to himself in triumph. “You may lay such blame upon yourself then.”

“I would still blame you more,” Tilghman says with a grumble.

“Laurens might have urged me to more succinct writing should he have wished,” Hamilton counters primly, accidentally making a blot of ink on his page.

Laurens scoffs. “Have you ever tried to censor you, Hamilton? I think not toward any measure of success.”

“And much less so when we should try,” Tilghman adds.

Meade snorts again and Harrison kicks the leg of his chair.

Hamilton purses his lips and breathes in deeply. “Every sentence and word I wrote was of the utmost importance.”

He will not apologize for taking pride in his work.

“Ham,” Laurens says softly.

Hamilton glances at him and sees Laurens smiling at him, perhaps apologetic but more fond. Hamilton smiles back and presses his knee against Laurens’ under the table.

“Even should Laurens have convinced you to write a page less,” Tilghman continues with annoyance in his tone, “I imagine the discussion would have lengthened instead and our work now would not be any less.” Tilghman lets out a sigh but pulls himself up straight and seems to write even faster than before. 

Hamilton wonders if perhaps Tilghman should take a break from such furious work. While Hamilton would like to claim himself as the most ardent, dutiful and busy aide among the staff, there is no beating Tench Tilghman.

“Bonjour, mon amis.”

The five aides look up to see the Marquis de Lafayette in the doorway.

“Bounjour,” Tilghman and Hamilton chorus together.

“Ah, Comment allez–vous, Lafayette?” Laurens asks. “Nous sommes bien ici.”

“Are we now?” Tilghman interrupts. “We were less than well but a moment past.”

“Oh they are quite well!” Meade interrupts. “Quite well as they have time to give voice to all their complaints.” Meade shoots a smile at the trio table then turns his chair to Lafayette once more. 

Lafayette smiles in his shy way and nods to Meade then to Laurens. “I am well despite my walk to you here.”

The five men make identical noises of pained understanding.

“Absolutely freezing,” Harrison mutters sounding as much an old man as they claim him to be.

“Quite so.” Lafayette holds up his hat to show some of the snowfall now melting on the fabric. “It has stopped snowing now, however,” Lafayette adds with a smile.

Hamilton and Laurens make the same happy noise together. Hamilton looks at Laurens, who glances back at him. They grin at once. As much as they are both bound and committed to the fight, they both hail from far south. Such Pennsylvanian cold is unwelcome to hot blood.

“Ah, Marquis.”

Hamilton stands at the sound of the General’s voice. The scrape of chairs around the room follow the other aides standing as the General appears beside Lafayette. Lafayette kisses the General on both cheeks, murmuring something in French Hamilton does not quite catch and the General would likely neither as his French is near absent. 

The General smiles at Lafayette for a moment then turns to the room at large. “Gentlemen, I think your studious dedication to our paperwork deserves a break.”

It is then that Hamilton notices the General holds what appears to be a leather ball in his hand.

Harrison laughs once, his eyes also on the ball. “You do not mean what I think you do, sir?”

The General smiles at Harrison. “Indeed I do, Harrison. Too much time seated at one’s desk is hardly good for the health. All men require some exercise, even in our winter quarters.”

“Perhaps you mean _you_ require some exertion sir?” Meade says boldly.

Tilghman makes a noise like a squeak and Hamilton shoots a look at him, the man clearly trying not to laugh, his shoulders shaking.

General Washington stares long at Meade until Meade clears his throat awkwardly. Then the General breaks into a smile. “Indeed, Meade, and by the look of your flush, you could use some time in the cold as well.”

Laurens bumps his shoulder against Hamilton’s and Hamilton has to bite his lip. 

Meade flushes more so and nods once. “Sir.”

“I suggest some sport might be in all our best interests,” the General says.

“I think we may be a tad short for any sort of teams,” Harrison says.

“Nonsense,” the general says. “We have seven and should do well enough.”

“You wish to play a game, sir?” Hamilton cannot stop himself from saying.

Every head in the room turns to Hamilton. He does not, however, back down. “I will say our work less than some periods but it needs much attention still.”

General Washington nods once. “Of course your duty is of most importance, Hamilton, but your mind is not the only thing which requires work to be kept in proper health.”

“Sir, he is only just recovered from an illness,” Laurens says quickly.

Hamilton shoots a look at Laurens as he has been well for near a month now.

“Nonsense,” Washington says again, clearly thinking along Hamilton’s lines. “It shall benefit you all. Fresh air is an able cure for any ailment and we all ail from too much sedentary occupations of late. Could you not agree, Marquis?”

Lafayette stares at him. “I... I wonder at the ball?”

“Have you no such sport in France?”

Lafayette opens his mouth then closes it again. He looks at Hamilton for assistance then back again to the General. “But why?”

Laurens chuckles. “Amusement”

“And exercise,” Harrison adds. “More so the latter, is that not right, General?”

“Exactly so,” he gestures with the ball toward the front of the house with a smile. “Now, I order you all to join me.”

“Outside?” Hamilton asks. “To play a game?”

“Yes,” Laurens says,

“Now?” Lafayette asks in some alarm.

“It appears so!” Tilghman says as he puts his pen down in his ink well. He shoots a grin at Meade. “I declare now that my team shall beat yours in whatever game the General chooses.”

“I say!” Meade says with trumped up offense. “A challenge it is.”

Harrison sighs as he walks after the pair, who follow the General. “You need not behave as children.”

“You may keep Harrison on your team,” Meade chides as the front door opens.

“Now see here, we have not yet picked –” Tilghman begins but the rest of his words are lost as he exits the house.

Hamilton and Lafayette stare at each other. “A game?” Lafayette says.

“With a ball?” Hamilton asks.

“I know your upbringings may have not allowed for much time to play such,” Laurens says tactfully, “but it appears the General should wish to make up for this loss.”

Lafayette laughs once in a surprised way.

Hamilton looks at Laurens. “He wishes to play a game? We are at war!”

Laurens touches his arm and Hamilton’s fingers tingle. “I believe he wishes for a brief respite from all our duties here.”

“But we must –”

“Hamilton, he is our leader and if he should wish –”

“But a game?” Lafayette says, “C’est...” He struggles for a moment, at a loss to complete his thought.

“Unusual?” Laurens suggests.

“A waste of time,” Hamilton grumbles.

“Oui.”

“It is not a waste of time and perhaps it should do you good,” Laurens says to Lafayette whose mouth drops open. Then Laurens turns to Hamilton. “I should worry, however, at your health, Hamilton.”

Hamilton frowns. He had been quite ill before his return to Valley Forge and suffered something of a relapse but he has been recovered and able bodied for several weeks now. “If you should worry for my health then perhaps I should hurry to join the General to prove myself quite well.”

“Hamilton...”

“No.” Hamilton shifts around the table and marches toward the door, pushing past Lafayette. “No, I am well, as I have said and need not be coddled any longer.”

“You did well to rest but to run about out in the cold –”

“As though many of our soldiers are not ill in the cold at present.”

“You need not be one as well!”

“I shall certainly not be.” Hamilton picks up his hat and cloak from a peg near the door. “And I shall show you such.”

“You need not prove your health to me, Hamilton,” Laurens says now standing beside a bewildered looking Lafayette in the aide office door. “I believe you well.”

“Then why should I not join in throwing a ball about as the General is want to do?” Hamilton plants his feet and puts on his hat. “He did call it an order.”

Lafayette sighs. “Quand à Rome”

“Here here,” Laurens says without much enthusiasm, still staring at Hamilton.

Lafayette puts his hat back on his head then looks back and forth between Laurens and Hamilton. “My friends, we had best as least see what exercise with his ball our dear General has begun, yes?”

“Yes,” Hamilton says huffily.

“See, yes,” Laurens says. “We may _see_.”

Hamilton picks up Laurens’ hat and holds it out to him. “And we shall benefit from some fresh air.

“Fresh and frigid air,” Laurens adds taking his hat.

Hamilton turns in place, grabs the door handle and pulls open the door. The cold air hits him in the face making his teeth ache instantly. He feels Laurens standing close behind him as they walk down the few steps. Lafayette makes a displeased noise when they step onto the ground then walks ahead of Hamilton toward the four men out on the lawn, as much as it is, playing what might be termed a game.

Harrison says, “– and this is not cricket, we have no bats. Should we simply run willy-nilly?”

Meade catches the ball which Hamilton sees must have been thrown by the General. Meade skids slightly on the inch or so of snow they have at present and makes a crowing noise. “I count that a point.”

“We have not determined any rules!” Tilghman says, jogging backwards with his hands up by his chest. “If you would but throw it to me.”

“But you are not my team.” Meade bounces on one foot and lobs the ball in a shaky fashion toward the General. He falls short by at least a meter.

The General laughs as he moves to pick it up. “I think perhaps my suggestion was much needed if that is your throw.”

“Tench was none better!”

“Indeed he was better,” The General says. “You may do better to plant your feet.”

“And we would do better to establish some rules, perhaps?” Harrison asks.

The General throws the ball high and far, Harrison just putting up his hands in time to catch it against his chest with an indignant, “Sir!”

Lafayette walks onto the ‘field’ of play, taking off his hat and putting it to the side. “What might we call this game?”

“It has no name at present,” Meade says, clapping his hands together once then holding them up. “I shall call it ‘Washington ball.’”

The General and Tilghman both laugh once.

“It is not a game,” the General says, “merely an exercise to keep our energy and health up.”

Harrison tosses the ball toward Lafayette who catches it easily. “And I might choose whom I wish to throw to?”

“No rules apply,” Harrison gripes. “Though I might say we could –”

“Harrison!” Tilghman groans.

“Old secretary indeed!” Meade says at the same time.

“I simply think –”

Lafayette suddenly pulls his arm back and throws the ball toward the General. General Washington runs back a few paces then catches the ball with a grin as bright at the sun. Lafayette grins back at him, clapping his hands once and running across the snow, holding up his hand for the ball once more.

“What in God’s name is happening?” Hamilton asks.

“Sport,” Laurens says plainly.

“But... there is snow on the ground.”

“I think the General will clearly not let a small thing such as snow stop his exercise.”

“Could he not simply...” Hamilton struggles to think of an alternative to running about throwing a ball in the frigid weather to appease the General.

“Could simply?”

Hamilton sighs. “I know not, but this seems something quite irregular.”

“Perhaps so, Hamilton,” Laurens leans closer against Hamilton’s shoulder as they watch Lafayette throw the ball once more to the General, Meade crying something about fairness. “But our very way is irregular, is it not? We two... we are some manner of... irregular.”

Hamilton turns his head close to Laurens beside him. Laurens’ cheeks have a fetching pink to them with the cold around them, his hands clasped on his upper arms over his chest for warmth, a smile on his face.

“I would not call us irregular.”

Laurens raises his eyebrows, the tips of his fingers grazing over the edge of Hamilton’s arm. “Would you not? You have a better word?”

Happy. Together. Perfect. Fate. Providence. Joy. Beauty. Warmth. Loving. Dream. 

Hamilton shifts his weight so his hip presses against Laurens’ too, warmth at every point where they touch. “I would call us well matched.”

“Hmm,” Laurens says, still smiling. “I could think of many more words indeed.”

“I should say them all,” Hamilton says quietly. “I would show you them all.”

“I would call us...” Laurens says, voice low, his eyes shifting down to Hamilton’s mouth. Hamilton licks the edge of his lip once and Laurens’ eyes shoot back up to meet his. “I would call us beloved.”

Hamilton smiles and thinks duty need not be so present now and he could find an exertion far more pleasurable than outside in the snow had they privacy and time. 

He says to Laurens. “I would call you mine.”

“Hamilton!”

Before Hamilton marks who shouted his name, Laurens suddenly jumps in front of him and catches the leather ball, causing their hats to fall off and knocking them both backward a few steps.

“Might you not attempt to injure us!” Laurens snaps.

“Rules, I declare!” Harrison says pointing at Tilghman.

“And you call my throw ill,” Meade says with a scoff.

“I did not aim for his head!” Tilghman counters.

“Gentlemen!” The General chides. “All is well, and if the blood pumps more, then all the better!”

Hamilton feels Laurens tense up in annoyance but he does not counter the General. He puts a hand on Hamilton’s chest for a moment, as if to insure Hamilton still stands there. The he pulls back his arm and throws the ball toward Lafayette, who catches it with a, “Merci!”

Laurens looks back at Hamilton. “Did I hit you?”

Hamilton laughs once, running a hand over his hair to tame it. “No more than the ball hit you.”

Laurens sighs. “I see your view now on this activity.”

Hamilton purses his lips. “As it may have harmed my beautiful face in your estimation?”

Laurens’ mouth drops open for a moment then he clicks his teeth, “You could never be not so in my estimation.”

“Laurens!” Laurens turns his head at the General’s voice. “I require all my aides to join us now. Do you and Hamilton think yourselves above such exercise?”

“No, sir,” Hamilton and Laurens say at once.

“Ah, my General,” Lafayette says tossing the ball to Harrison who has to run to catch it. “You make your recreation sound as a chore.”

“It is not recreation in the full extent.” The General appears somewhat abashed by Lafayette’s view. “But a method of good physical health.”

Harrison throws the ball again toward Tilghman but Meade knocks him in the shoulder and catches the ball instead. “Ah ha! Another point marked!”

“We have no teams!” Tilghman insists, trying to grab the ball from Meade’s hands but he runs out of Tilghman’s reach.

Meade throws the ball in a haphazard fashion toward General Washington.

“Ah yes, Physical health and we could not find a more....” Lafayette pauses as he thinks. “More concise process?”

The General frowns. “Sports are just as well as any other method.”

“Should we not perhaps have some teams?” Hamilton says as he and Laurens take positions near Harrison.

“We seem to be creating one now,” Harrison remarks.

Indeed, Hamilton, Laurens, Harrison and Lafayette stand mostly together on one side of the lawn while Washington, Meade and Tilghman stand on the other.

“There you are, Harrison,” Laurens says. “I call this a start of a rule of sorts, in that it is we four against their three.”

“No!” Meade shouts. “Wait.” He runs across the space between them toward their side. He pats Harrison on the shoulder as he comes alongside. “Off with you.”

Harrison frowns. “Why?”

“Tench and I cannot be on the same team.”

“Really!” Tilghman cries.

“I said I would beat you!”

Tilghman and Harrison sigh at the same moment but Harrison moves across the snow and dirt toward the General’s side regardless.

“We are not forming teams,” the General says in mild exasperation. “I asked only –”

“Non non,” Lafayette interrupts him making all the aides look at Lafayette in concern at his interruption of the General. “We shall make this a game for you yet, mon amis. You ask for physical fitness but your mind would do well for a rest in turn, yes?”

The General frowns. “I do not follow.”

“An exercise and a game!” Lafayette says. “Some merriment to alieve the perils of war weighing on your mind, oui?”

“Ah ha!” Harrison snaps, pointing at Meade. “Rules!”

“The Greeks played Harpastum, did they not?”

“Your Greek knowledge is exceptional, Marquis, I am sure,” Laurens says, “But would you know the rules?”

Lafayette makes a face then shrugs. “I give only examples.”

“Ha!” Tilghman says. “If we should argue of rules all day we should get no exercise at all but of our mouths.”

“Thank you, Tilghman,” Washington says suddenly throwing the ball, his throw far and strong.

Hamilton realizes, just as Washington throws that he has not caught the ball once yet and somehow that seems like a true failing. Hamilton runs back, trying to look up to where the ball starts to arc down toward the earth. As he holds his arms up to catch it, he notices Laurens keeping pace with him.

“You shall not –”

“Oh, I shall and –”

“Ah ha!” Meade cuts in front of Hamilton and snatches the ball just out of Hamilton’s fingertips. 

Meade’s crowing is short lived, however, as he cut too close to Hamilton causing Hamilton to crash right into him, Laurens catching Meade’s shoulder as well so all three of them fall to the ground. Laurens curses once, hitting Meade in the shoulder. Meade starts laughing and holds the ball up above his head. Hamilton hears what sounds like Tilghman asking if they are well. Hamilton wonders what the British would say if they should see this now.

Lafayette appears in Hamilton’s field of vision against the sky. “Mon dieu.” 

Hamilton feels Laurens’ hand touch his hair. “Are you hurt?”

Hamilton laughs once. “Ah... no.”

“I am well, should you care!” Meade says indignantly.

“We care,” Laurens and Hamilton say together.

Meade laughs again. “My apologies, Laurens; my apologies Hamilton. I may have allowed my zeal to cloud my judgement.”

“And your aim,” Laurens says as he sits up beside Hamilton.

“I caught the ball.”

Lafayette holds out his hand to Hamilton. “Come, Ham, up once more.”

Hamilton grips Lafayette’s hand and allows himself to be pulled up to standing, Laurens jumping up beside him. The three of them look down at Meade still lying in the snow, passing the ball back and forth in his hands.

“Perhaps I should stay here.”

“What?” Hamilton asks. He sees Laurens beginning to smile at his tone. “And allow Tilghman to win? I think not.”

Hamilton takes the ball from Meade’s hands then Lafayette and Laurens take a hand each of Meade’s pulling him to his feet.

“Well now?” The General asks. “Are you all sound?”

“Yes, sir,” Meade, Laurens and Hamilton chorus together.

The game of ball continues in a rather chaotic fashion. Harrison attempts to tap down some more concrete rules while Tilghman insists the rules should simply be whichever side wins. Meade finally brings the ground rules to be whichever side catches the most balls, the other side’s goal being the throw the ball too far or in too surprising a way for the other side to catch it. The General laughs and allows the game to progress with only token remarks about the point being their own physical activity. He altogether seems more jolly than he has since Hamilton arrived back at Valley Forge. Hamilton thinks perhaps the break from their work is worth seeing some light return to their General’s face. Tilghman comments on the teams being inherently unfair at three against four but Laurens counters that the General is easily worth three or more so their side has the advantage. No one disagrees with Laurens, not even the General.

General Washington and General Lafayette become the undisputed captains of each team, barking amusing orders about who should run and catch and throw. Tilghman and Meade keep up a heated rivalry, Tilghman actually diving into the snow to catch one very wide throw by Laurens.

“Ah ha!” Tilghman shouts. “Five! I count five to your four! And you should think you victorious? I say no sir!”

“I say just you wait sir!” Meade shouts back, kicking at the snow getting more dirt than snow on his boot.

General Washington laughs and proves the most formidable thrower among the whole group, Laurens and Hamilton both huffing in exertion every time they run for his throws.

“You are impossible sir!” Meade says as Laurens misses once more.

“I say, you should all practice your arm more!” The General goads, quite unlike him in most instances.

Hamilton, however, does finally catch one throw from the General.

The General throws the ball to their side, Harrison and Tilghman shouting ‘Huzzah’ at the arc on the ball. Hamilton, however, this time chose to start running before the ball left the General’s hand. The General always throws straight, he does not surprise as Tilghman does, sending the ball wide left or right, or trip as Harrison sometimes does and send the ball too quickly down. The General is predictable in that his throw is to the mark and always at distance. So Hamilton runs, the sound of Laurens’ feet following behind him, and pushes himself as fast as he is able. Hamilton would not consider himself the most adept at sports of any kind but he is smart and thinks one can aid the other. He looks up, sees the ball heading down toward the earth. Hamilton pivots his heel suddenly, jumps in the air and perfectly catches the General’s throw.

His fingers sting with the force of the ball but he shouts in delight as he lands back on his feet, hearing Lafayette shouting “Barvo!”

Suddenly Laurens grabs him around the middle, lifting him up and spinning him around, laughing all the while. Hamilton grips Laurens’ shoulder with one hand, grinning wide and happy at a victory and Laurens’ arms around him.

“And we cannot jest any longer about your illness at such a catch as that!” Laurens says, looking up at him.

Hamilton laughs too, nearly dropping the ball as they spin. “You do not jest much on it at present and put me down, I say!”

Laurens laughs again, putting Hamilton back on his feet, his hand sliding across Hamilton’s cheek as he does. “Ah, but I will cheer instead at your abilities, may I?”

“Indeed do!”

“A point to us!” Meade says as Laurens and Hamilton turn back toward the others, Hamilton tossing the ball up in the air then back into his hands. “A well deserved point!”

“I would not wish to catch his Excellency’s throws, to be sure,” Tilghman grumbles.

“I catch just as well, Tilghman,” the General says. “But I think we have diverted ourselves long enough.” The aides all visibly deflate in disappointment. “We have work still to accomplish and a war we cannot put off by the throw of a ball for so long. An end now, gentlemen.”

“And that would make the ending scores seventeen to twenty.”

Hamilton turns suddenly in surprise at the new voice, Laurens and Lafayette turning with him. The game group looks back toward the house to see Caleb Gibbs standing on the steps, a paper and quill in hand. Nearby two of the lifeguard and several more enlisted men stand as well all smiling over the show. Hamilton sees a few passing money between them.

“Marvelous game, gentlemen!” Gibbs says. “And I think none should be surprised at the win for the General’s team.”

“Ah ha!” Tilghman shouts. “Win! A win! Ah ha!”

“No! That was not the final count, it could not be,” Meade interrupts, running over to Gibbs.

“It quite was, son,” Gibbs says, “Were you writing it down, eh?”

“I was in the game!”

“I think we expected a few more falls between you,” Gibbs says with a gesture indicating the whole party. “What with snow on your playing field.”

“And which catches did you count. For I did catch –”

Tilghman waves a hand. “Kidder, only those once the rules were –”

“Oh ho ho, so you can cancel out those which I had before?”

“And when should we begin, those which you threw to yourself as well?”

“And still we should lose despite, Hamilton’s catch?” Laurens says with some distress.

“It matters not,” Lafayette says with a wave of his hand.

“It matters much!” Meade insists.

“It matters to those who bet,” Gibbs mutters.

“And now this merriment has reached its end,” The General says, his voice cutting over all others, so the few enlisted men who had stood to watch disappear around the edge of the house. “We shall all return to our duties at hand. Gentlemen, thank you all for a most refreshing exercise.”

“And game,” Lafayette says.

The General looks at him for a moment then smiles. “Indeed.”

“Back to your duties men,” Harrison snaps so Gibbs stands up straight, shooing his two guardsmen away.

Meade and Tilghman continue arguing as they follow the General and Lafayette up the stairs. Lafayette holds open the door for them all, Harrison bringing up the rear. Lafayette looks at Hamilton and Laurens for a moment then lets the door fall closed.

Hamilton still breathes somewhat quickly, his heart only now slowing down after his run and the elation of success. He thinks perhaps, in this case, winning overall was not the most important victory. Not when he could catch such a throw or plan such a perfect execution or when Laurens held him and looked at him so.

“I still feel as though we won,” Laurens says

“Do you?”

“With as many of the throws we missed from the General, catching that one at the end feels a better victory.”

“My catching.

Laurens chuckles. “Exactly.”

Hamilton tosses the ball to Laurens who catches it.

“I worry the General may wish such exercises to become more regular.” Hamilton holds up his hands for the ball, which Laurens tosses back to him. “And with the cold such as this...”

“It did distract somewhat.”

“Perhaps,” Hamilton throws the ball back. “But my nose seems to be far less convinced.”

Laurens throws the ball to Hamilton again then reaches out and rubs his hand over Hamilton’s cold nose once. He smiles. “Perhaps we should move indoors then and warm you once more.”

Hamilton dribbles the ball between his hands. While he would prefer the warmth of the house, he also prefers the almost solitude of Laurens and himself where they stand now. Laurens seems to understand his hesitation because he steps closer and puts his hands around Hamilton’s on the ball, stopping his fidgeting.

“I do hope,” Laurens says carefully, “this game will not prove in anyway ill to your recovery.”

Hamilton smiles. Laurens’ hands warming his, if only slightly. “My recovery is complete now. I plan on no illness returning.”

“Ah, you do not plan on it but –”

“But my planning is quite often fortuitous so worry less, my dear Jack.”

“Hamilton!” The two of them turn at Tilghman’s shout from the door. “You balked so at leaving our duties yet now you linger?”

“We should wish to leave you with all the work, Tilghman,” Laurens cries, “did you not know?”

Tilghman sighs but he still smiles. “I suppose my handwriting the best, is that so?”

Hamilton pulls his hands slowly back from Laurens and lobs the ball toward Tilghman. Tilghman steps to the side and lets it roll in the door of the house.

Tilghman grins. “I call that a consolatory win for you, Hamilton.”

“Why thank you, Tench.”

“Come then and stop freezing so.” Tilghman turns out of the door, it only mostly closing behind him.

Hamilton looks at Laurens – red in his cheeks, hair loose in his face and his eyes bright, lips he would gladly kiss now or later or always – and Laurens grins back at him. 

“Inside then, Alexander, enough games.”

“I should rather different exertions that these to pass my time.”

Laurens’s lips purse as he walks past Hamilton toward the steps. “As would I with your face so animated.”

“Ah, only now?”

Laurens looks back at him. “My dear, Alex, I would have you here in the snow if I were able.”

Hamilton blows out a slow breath and can only smile in response as Laurens grins wickedly, walks up the steps and pushes open the door again. Hamilton would gladly count that as a win to Laurens. Hamilton moves toward the steps and back into the house, thinking about how he and Laurens might find time alone for their own physical exercise.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference mentioned at the beginning note and:
> 
> [About Hamilton's return to Valley Forge, sort of](http://revolutionary-pirate.tumblr.com/post/164559045815/tl-wr-canon-era-lams-sick-fics-about-january)


End file.
